


wild for her

by mercuryhatter



Series: wild for her- a J/M/B-centric modern AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: College AU, M/M, Multi, Other, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet modern AU, covering college and post-college. This is the chronological story; drabbles in this universe can be found in the "wild for her drabbles" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kiss it better

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Wild For Her 'verse but I'm considering moving the drabbles to their own series and starting something non-drabbly that's actually in chronological order. We'll see. This is their first year of university. Enjoy!

Bossuet’s first impression of his randomly chosen roommate was something along the lines of _wow, my luck really is improving._ Joly was short and a little bit twitchy and his brown hair was in need of a trim and constantly in a messy halo around his head because he had a habit of running his fingers through it, and he had bright blue eyes and expressive eyebrows behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and despite his nervous demeanor, had the quickest and brightest smile Bossuet had ever seen. Bossuet was sure that there had to be a downfall-- he would be a fundamentalist Christian and would disapprove of Bossuet’s favorite pair of glittery boots, or maybe he was a racist toad, or maybe he sang opera in the shower. But Joly shook Bossuet’s hand readily, complimented his nose ring, and as soon as his parents were gone, grinned his luminous smile and tacked a bi pride flag to the wall.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said to Bossuet, who grinned back and shook his head.

“Nah. Saves me having to buy a new one.”

The more he learned about Joly, the more he liked him. The little pre-med student had a lot of idiosyncrasies, not least of which was his single-minded holy war against the mold that kept attempting to grow in the corners of their room, or the fact that he had posters from medical textbooks up on his walls like a freaking clinic. Bossuet personally thought that the weirdest thing about him was the fact that he got up at six every morning and went to bed at eleven every night, no matter what his schedule was like, but maybe that was just because Bossuet himself had purposefully scheduled all his classes for ten in the morning at the very earliest, and had this problem where he stayed up until four AM marathoning Ghost Hunters. His bad luck did end up manifesting itself, but in the form of an upstairs neighbor who not only played drums and had a very active sex life, but was also prone to moving furniture around the room at odd hours. He and Joly dubbed him Upstairs, given that they’d never actually seen the occupant of the room before, and Bossuet would toss a bouncy ball against the ceiling from his bed whenever he got bored. More often than not the ball would bounce back and give him a black eye, but sometimes Upstairs would bang frustratedly on the floor in a very satisfying manner, and anyway, he liked the way Joly fussed over him whenever he so much as sneezed, so he didn’t stop.

While Bossuet made the major change form his best friend-- after just one semester, he’d managed to be in culinary, hospitality, business, and psychology at various times-- Joly had a focus on medicine that rivaled his determination in the Great Mold War. He chattered on about what he was learning all the time, whether he thought Bossuet was listening or not, and even though he seemed absolutely convinced that he had a new and horrifying disease every week (or perhaps because of this), he loved what he was learning with a passion. Bossuet made a habit of coercing Joly with puppy eyes and melodramatic pleas to watch House MD or Grey’s Anatomy with him, because it meant they got to cuddle together on the same couch (and it always did turn into cuddling) and Joly’s indignant squeaks over the medical inaccuracy were quickly turning into one of Bossuet’s favorite things.

It was usually while they were doing this, wrapped up on the same couch while Bossuet mentally wrote House/Wilson fanfiction and Joly made faces at the way they didn’t cover the fake chemo bags in foil, that Bossuet began to get bold. They were already leaning on each other, with Bossuet’s arm over Joly’s shoulders and Joly’s head on Bossuet’s chest, but Bossuet started to sneak kisses. He’d chuckle at the latest injustice done to medical accuracy and kiss Joly’s messy hair in sympathy, or he’d nuzzle into Joly’s shoulder and complain when it started to get close to eleven and Joly started talking about needing to go to bed. Joly would smile and laugh and sometimes he would lean in to kiss Bossuet on the cheek, or really, closer to the corner of his mouth, and then run off to put on pajamas before Bossuet had time to turn his head. When they walked together they would end up with their fingers interlaced, and when Joly tripped and was convinced that his ankle must be broken and he simply wasn’t feeling the pain because of shock, Bossuet carried him princess-style all the way home.

“All better, do you think?” he asked when Joly was sitting at his desk, ankle propped up on Bossuet’s lap for inspection. Joly’s eyes flashed with daring and he gave a smile that was almost a smirk.

“You could always kiss it better.”

Bossuet laughed at first, but then he leaned down to kiss the knobby bone of Joly’s ankle, and if he put a little more tongue into it than was strictly necessary, well, the happy sigh Joly gave only encouraged him. He replaced Joly’s foot on the ground and while he was leaned forward like that, Joly leaned over to take Bossuet’s face between both of his hands (which were soft and always smelled like lavender sanitizer) and kissed him fully on the mouth.

Bossuet promptly fell off his chair.

Joly squeaked in shock and knelt down next to him, fluttery hands checking for bruises, but Bossuet merely sat up and kissed him again, pulling Joly practically into his lap right there on the floor.

“So you’re okay?” Joly said, his voice breathless and his eyes wide as the kiss ended.

“No, I might be dying,” he responded frankly, holding Joly’s gaze. “I need defibrillation.”

Joly almost toppled over again laughing but Bossuet held him up, at least until Joly smacked him playfully on the head.

“It’s resuscitation,” he gasped when he could actually speak. “Defibrillation is with the paddles and that is not what I would like to do with you at all. This is what happens when you watch House all the time--”

“Okay, point taken, but I’d like to focus on something else in that sentence: what would you like to do with me?” Bossuet interrupts, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Joly said, with a nervous, high-pitched giggle. His face was turning red and Bossuet traced the blush over his cheekbones with his fingertips. “Well. I think that probably requires, um, more of a practical demonstration than a verbal one...”

“I’m all yours,” Bossuet said, and Joly turned even redder at that, but his giggles had silenced into a small, pleased smile. 

“Are you?”

“If you want.”

Joly nodded, his fingers creeping under Bossuet’s shirt and rubbing over his hips.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“Good, because honestly, I’ve been hoping for this since we met,” Bossuet told him, meaning for it to be a joke, but it sounded rather more like a confession, and either way, it was true. Joly’s face lit up and he swept Bossuet’s shirt off entirely before Bossuet scooped him up off the floor (because he was not going to be the one responsible for Joly’s contracting some sort of floor-borne disease) and carried him to the bed. 

“Your ankle seems fine to me,” he said later, when it was long past eleven but Joly was still tucked up next to him, dropping idle kisses along his bare arm and shoulder.

“Yes, well, didn’t I tell you I just needed kissing?” Joly murmured, smiling into Bossuet’s skin. Bossuet laughed and held him closer and kissed his temple and promised that he could give plenty of that.


	2. Les Amis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joly and Bossuet attend their first Les Amis meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I'd never update this again, huh? Well, ha! you were wrong. :D

“And that’s Jehan,” Courfeyrac finished, gesturing to probably the most mismatched Lolita Joly had ever seen, hanging upside down off of a chair with layers of pastel skirts rucked up to reveal ribboned garters attached to bright red knit stockings that didn’t match the bright blue sweater, the lacy green coat, any of the abandoned scarves, or the boots that were for some reason two tables away. The blond girl introduced as Cosette was absently snapping the garters, making Jehan jump every time, and the young, perpetually scowling Feuilly was stretched on his stomach on the floor, doodling extremely impressive flowers all across Jehan’s arms.

“Er, why is--” Joly floundered for a moment before giving up on pronouns entirely, “Jehan upside down?”

“Xe’s a poet,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “We’ve stopped trying to interpret their actions.”

This left Joly no further enlightened as to pronouns and so he fell silent, drumming his fingers nervously on Bossuet’s leg while Bossuet engaged himself in a conversation about fetishization of indigenous cultures in anthropology with Combeferre. Feuilly looked up from his drawing every so often to comment-- he was much less scowly when engaged in conversation.

It was because of Combeferre that Joly and Bossuet were here at all-- “here” being the first meeting of the not-exactly-SGA-approved student group dubbed Les Amis de l’ABC. Combeferre was Joly’s favorite lab TA, and between the small, conspiratorial smile he’d given Joly after lab when he pressed the flyer into his hand, and Bossuet’s proclamations that the whole thing sounded like a fantastic idea, Joly had finally gone along with it. It wasn’t that he was regretting the choice, necessarily, but having his routine thrown off always made him more nervous than usual and all of the new people were not helping.

Other than Jehan the upside-down Lolita poet, Cosette the porcelain-doll-beautiful rollergirl, Courfeyrac the altogether far too outgoing self-appointed host, and Feuilly of the endless scowls, they’ve also been introduced to Enjolras, who apparently had the idea for all of this in the first place. If Enjolras hadn’t been wearing a loose tank top bearing the three-pronged transgender symbol over a bright red binder, a battered denim jacket, and tight black pants, Joly would have assumed that he was actually an angel fallen out of some Renaissance painting, all passionate blue eyes and blond curls and furious gestures. As it was, he was still striking, even sitting off to one side and scribbling intently on a piece of paper with his laptop open beside him.

Just as Joly was starting to relax, the door burst open to admit three more students, with their arms linked around each other as they sang loudly. On one side, a girl with half her dark hair shaved and a black eye who wore the same team jersey as Cosette over her barely-there shorts and fishnets; in the middle, a ruddy-faced boy with stubble and a riot of inky curls that easily rivaled Enjolras’, and on his other side, a taller, more muscled boy with split knuckles and a wide, loose grin. Enjolras looked up at their entrance, irritation scrawled over his face that only relaxed slightly when he saw who they were, but everyone else waved their greetings cheerfully.

“And here’s the rest! Eponine, Grantaire, Bahorel, this is Bossuet, and this is Joly. Combeferre brought found Joly in the lab and Joly brought Bossuet.” Courfeyrac had, of course, sprung up to make introductions immediately, before he was pushed lightly back into his chair by the boy with split knuckles-- Bahorel-- who immediately sat on his lap and planted a kiss on his forehead.

“What happened?” Cosette asked Eponine, waving vaguely at her own eye to indicate the object of her question. Eponine gave a crooked grin and flopped down on the floor by Cosette’s chair, rubbing the shaved side of her head against Cosette’s thigh.

“We were walking with Bahorel, what do you expect?” she replied. Her voice was lower and rougher than Joly expected, and there was a bit of a knife edge to her eyes. Cosette didn’t seem fazed; she simply shook her head fondly and threw a napkin at Bahorel’s head. It missed and landed in Courfeyrac’s hair, prompting him to shriek and tip Bahorel onto the floor as he fell out of his chair trying to swat the bit of paper away.

“Is this everyone?” Enjolras asked; he had looked up from his papers, finally, and when he spoke the room stilled. All except for the ruddy-faced boy, Grantaire, who was waving a flask around in the air and continuing to talk enthusiastically to a decidedly less enthusiastic Feuilly.

“Musichetta from the derby team said she might come,” Cosette said. “Should I call her?”

“No need!” a voice sang from the door, and this time it was Joly who fell out of his chair.

He really wasn’t in the habit of falling out of chairs when presented with striking beauties. That was more of Bossuet’s territory, but Bossuet only looked up at the crash when Joly hit the ground and he didn’t seem to notice the woman in the doorway at all, which added a layer of vague guilt to Joly’s embarrassment. And in all the fuss trying to get Joly back up (which resulted ultimately in Jehan falling on top of Feuilly and Cosette jumping back out of the way, nearly kicking Eponine in the head-- Bossuet meant well; it wasn’t his fault that his help usually caused more chaos than it cured) Courfeyrac didn’t have a chance to introduce Musichetta to the new members before Enjolras finally shut everybody up long enough to start the meeting.

\---

“Who was the new kid?” Musichetta asked Cosette. They were walking home arm in arm, split off from the others in the direction of their apartment.

“Which one?”

“Both."

"The twitchy one, who almost had a conniption when you came in, is Joly. Bossuet, the bald one, is his boyfriend. They seem sweet." Musichetta pouted.

"You didn't see any poly patches on their bags, did you?" Cosette laughed.   
  
"No, but it can't hurt to talk to them. They are cute," she said, waggling her eyebrows. Musichetta stuck her tongue out.

"You watch, I just might."

 

**Author's Note:**

> one last fun fact: "Upstairs" is actually my upstairs neighbor.


End file.
